Chaos is a Ladder
by Troph
Summary: A one shot adapting the "Chaos is a ladder" scene from season 3. I just really like the scene.


Varys waddled into the cavernous throne room of King's Landing. Ravens flapped noisily in the rafters, flying in and out of the open windows hundreds of feet above him that Aegon had carved millennia ago. His footsteps were soft on his custom-made slippers, so that he didn't make a sound as he snuck behind the loan figured sitting beside the Iron Throne.

"A thousand blades," the Spider called out into the hollow silence. The figure didn't stir. Lord Baelish didn't scare easily. "Taken from the hands of Aegon's fallen enemies. Forged in the fiery breath of Valerian the Dread."

"There aren't a thousand blades," replied Baelish. Even looking at the back of his head, Varys could hear the disappointment in his voice. "There aren't even two hundred. I've counted."

Varys chuckled. "I'm sure you have. Ugly old thing," he said, looking at the bulky metal chair that sat before them. Swords bent at angles that would stick the occupant in the sides and between the fingers. The blades were rusty and leather was hanging off the hilts like torn flesh.

"And yet it has a certain… appeal." Littlefinger sounded blasé, as if whatever the appeal was he couldn't see it.

"The Lysa Arryn of chairs," Varys of observed. Baelish gave a soft guffaw and turned to face Varys. The piercing yellow eyes stared at him through sunken sockets and a pinched face. It was like an owl staring at a fox. "Shame you had to settle for your second choice."

"Early days, my friend," Baelish replied, readily. He rose gracefully and sauntered down the throne steps toward Varys. "It is flattering, really: you feeling such dread at the prospect of me getting what I want."

"Thwarting you has never been my primary ambition, I promise you," Varys said, truthfully. "Although, who doesn't like to see their friends fail now and then," he added, also truthfully. This was the odd thing about Littlefinger: Varys felt as though they were the only two people in King's Landing who were honest with each other. In broad daylight, in the King's Council, they lied and schemed like everyone else. But when the doors were shut and the bolts locked, they had no reason to lie. At least, not as much as they usually did. It was… refreshing, in a way.

"You're so right." Baelish's soft voice seemed to fill the entire room. "For instance: when I thwarted your plan to give Sansa Stark to the Tyrells… if I'm going to be honest I did feel an unmistakable sense of enjoyment there." Littlefinger came level with the Spider and the bright yellow eyes found his. Varys didn't flinch; he knew what Littlefinger's plans were and he had let them happen. He had discovered long ago that what appeared to be thwarted plans were merely disguised opportunities.

"But _your_ confidant…" Baelish's voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "The one who fed you information about my plans… the one you swore to protect… you didn't bring her any enjoyment… and she didn't bring me any enjoyment. She was a bad investment on my part."

Varys hoped Baelish couldn't hear his heart pounding.

"Luckily," Baelish continued, moving past Varys to the great Ironwood doors, "I have a friend who wants to try something new. Something daring. And he was so grateful to me for providing this… fresh experience." He turned again to face Varys, his snakelike smile sending unseen shivers down the Spider's back. Baelish had given the informant to Joffrey; that was unexpected. Now, Varys would be a target of his schemes as he never was before. He needed to soften the blow.

"I did what I did for the good of the realm."

Baelish sneered. "The realm? Do you know what the realm is?" He slowly closed the space between them, a snake sliding over towards a mouse. "It's the thousand blades of Aegon's enemies. A story we agree to tell each other over and over until we forget that it's a lie."

"But what do we have left once we abandon the lie?" Varys asked, staring directly into the eyes that stared out at him from sunken sockets, like candles in a cave. "Chaos. A gaping pit waiting to swallow us all."

"Chaos isn't a pit…" Baelish leaned in, these words only for Varys' ears. "Chaos is a ladder." His voice reveled in those words, in the same way a maester revels in prayer. "Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given a chance to climb. They refuse; they cling to the Realm. Or the gods. Or love. Illusions. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is."

When Baelish had gone, Varys stood there, his mind racing. He had not intended to make Baelish an enemy. He thought he could work around the man, keep him ignorant of any interference on his part. Now, that barrier was shattered and couldn't be remade. Baelish would now regard him as an active threat, a block in his path to be crushed. As Baelish had spoken, Varys saw fire burning in his eyes. The bodies of the millions who had stood in his way. The realm broken, empty of all except Baelish.

It was never my intention to see you fall, Varys thought, slipping silently from the throne room. It is now.


End file.
